Love and poetry—these are what make hours seem like minutes. Be an author, a poet, a novelist, or a lover, and for you time will have wings. I thought of Mademoiselle Rosette all day, I dreamed of her all night, and the next morning I set about fulfilling my promise. There is nothing so easy, in Paris, as to obtain theatre tickets; it is not necessary to know authors or managers; it is enough to have money. With money one can have whatever one desires. I was on the way to a ticket broker's, when I found myself face to face with Dumouton, the literary man, who was of the dinner party at Deffieux's.

Poor Dumouton had not changed; he was still the same in physique and in dress. The yellowish-green or faded apple-green coat; the skin-tight trousers of any color you choose. But I noticed that he had two umbrellas under his arm, although there were no signs of rain. He offered me his hand, as if he were overjoyed to meet me, crying:

"Why, Monsieur Rochebrune! bonjour! how are you? It's a long while since I had the pleasure of meeting you."

"Very well, thanks, Monsieur Dumouton! indeed, I believe we have not met since DuprÉval's dinner."

"True. We had a fine time at that dinner; everybody told some little anecdote; it was very amusing."

"Are you still writing plays?"

"Still. But one can't find such a market as one would like. There is so much intriguing at the theatres! The writing of a play isn't the most difficult part, but the getting it acted. Speaking of theatres, you don't happen to need an umbrella, do you?"

"No, thanks, I have one. Are you selling umbrellas now?"

"No—but—it happens that I bought one yesterday; and, meanwhile, my wife had bought one, too. So you see, we have too many; I would be glad of a chance to get rid of one; I would sell it cheap."

"If I hadn't one already, I might make a trade with you; but as I don't need it——"

"Still, it's often convenient to have two or three; for you lose one sometimes, or lend it to somebody who doesn't return it. That has happened to me a hundred times; and then, when you want to go out, it rains; you look for your umbrella, and it isn't there. That is very annoying; so it's more prudent to have two."

"But you apparently don't think so, as you want to sell one of yours."

"Oh! we have five in the house now."

"That makes a difference; but I don't quite understand why you bought another."

Dumouton scratched his nose; I could not help thinking of Rosette's seven aunts, and that Dumouton could shelter them from the rain with his seven umbrellas.

"What do you suppose I would like to have at this moment?" I asked him, as he sadly shifted his umbrellas from his right arm to his left.

"A cane, perhaps? I have one with a crow's beak head that would please you."

"No, no! I never carry a cane. What I would like at this moment is a theatre ticket for this evening."

Dumouton's face fairly beamed.

"For what theatre?" he cried.

"Faith! that makes no difference; but I would like a whole box."

"I have what you want, I have it right in my pocket. See, a box at the Gymnase!"

"The Gymnase it is!"

Dumouton took from his pocket an old notebook, or wallet, or, to speak more accurately, two pieces of leather—just what to call it, I do not know; but it contained a mass of papers, some old and soiled, others clean and new. He produced from it a pink one, which proved to be a ticket for a box at the Gymnase. I took the ticket and read at the foot of it the name of one of our most popular authors.

Dumouton restored his papers to his pocket, put his umbrellas under his left arm once more, and looked at me with an anxious expression, murmuring:

"Don't you want it?"

"Yes, indeed! But I was reading the name on it."

"Oh! that's of no consequence; I asked for it for him, but he can't go. You'll take it, then, will you?"

"Yes, gladly."

"There's only one thing. I have promised a box to some people to whom I am under obligations, and I can't break my word. It's too late to go to the theatre to ask for one, so I must buy one of a ticket broker; and I don't know whether——"

I did not let him finish the sentence.

"I don't propose that you shall be put to any expense on my account. How much will the ticket cost you?"

"Oh! a hundred sous, I suppose."

"Here's the money; and I am your debtor."

Dumouton pocketed the five francs with a radiant air. But he took his umbrellas in his hand again and held them out to me.

"I am sorry that you won't take one of these," he said.

I glanced at them, and replied:

"But neither of them is new."

"Oh! that may be; we bought them at second-hand. But they are good ones, and not dear. I will give you your choice for ten francs."

It was clear to my mind that poor Dumouton was sadly in need of money. Why should I not gratify him by buying an umbrella? That was simply a roundabout way of asking a favor. I took one of the umbrellas at random, and said:

"Well, if it will relieve you,—and I can understand that these two are a luxury, if you have five at home,—give me this one. Here's the ten francs."

Dumouton took the money and slipped one of the umbrellas under my arm so rapidly that I thought that he had run it into me; and fearing perhaps that I would change my mind and go back on my bargain, he left me on the instant, saying:

"I am very glad you needed an umbrella. Bonjour, Monsieur Rochebrune! hope to see you again soon!"

He disappeared, running. I examined the article I had purchased: it was a very good umbrella, with a laurel-wood stick; the head was a trefoil with silver trimmings, and the cover dark green silk. After all, I had not made a bad bargain; but I would have been glad not to have it on my hands just then, for the weather was fine, and it makes a man look very foolish to carry an umbrella under such circumstances.

But I had my ticket. I entered a cafÉ and called for paper and ink. I put the ticket in an envelope, with this superscription: For Mademoiselle Rosette, at Madame Ratapond's.

I carried the missive myself, for the name Ratapond did not inspire confidence. Moreover, I was not sorry to ask a few questions and find out a little more about Mademoiselle Rosette.

I arrived at Rue Meslay, and found the designated number. I passed under a porte cochÈre and was walking toward the concierge's lodge, when an enormous woman, who reminded me of one of the handsome sappers and miners who change their sex during the Carnival, came toward me from the farther end of the courtyard.

"Who do you want to see, monsieur?" she demanded.

"Does Madame Ratapond live in this house, madame?"

"Yes, monsieur; fifth floor above the entresol, the door opposite the stairs."

"I beg your pardon, madame; but what is that lady's business?"

As I asked the question, I felt in my pocket and took out a two-franc piece, which I slipped into the hand of the colossus, who instantly assumed a coquettish, mincing air and seemed to diminish in size until she reached my level.

"Oh! monsieur," she replied, "Madame Ratapond's a very respectable woman; she sends shawls into the departments and on the railroads."

"Has she many workgirls?"

"Six, and sometimes more."

"Do you know one of them named Mademoiselle Rosette—a pretty brunette, with a shapely, slender figure?"

"Oh! yes, monsieur. Mamzelle Rosette! To be sure, I know her; she goes up and down twenty times a day. She often does errands. Does monsieur happen to have brought her a ticket to the theatre? She told me this morning she expected one to-day, but she didn't count much on it."

"That is just what I have brought for her."

"Oh! won't she be glad, though! I tell you, monsieur, you can flatter yourself you've given her a lot of pleasure. She'll dance for joy when I tell her!"

"She doesn't live in the house, does she?"

"No, monsieur; she comes about eight o'clock or half-past."

"At what time does she go away?"

"Why, when the others do. Usually about eight, unless they're working late; then it's as late as ten, sometimes."

"Here is the letter, madame, with the ticket; will you be kind enough to hand it to mademoiselle in person?"

"Yes, monsieur, I understand. You see, I'm sure it won't be long before she comes in or goes out, and she always speaks to me when she passes."

"I rely upon you, then, madame."

The colossus cut several capers by way of courtesies; I left her standing on one leg, and went my way. I had found that the girl had not deceived me in what she told me; that was something. I did not suppose that I was dealing with a Jeanne d'Arc, but I did not care to fall into the other extreme. I determined to go to the Gymnase, and to have a little note in my pocket, appointing a meeting, which I would slip into Mademoiselle Rosette's hand if I was unable to talk freely with her.

I was on my way home, when I heard my name called. I turned and recognized Monsieur Rouffignard, the stout, chubby-faced party, who also was one of the dinner party at Deffieux's.

"Parbleu!" I said, as we shook hands; "this is my day for meetings!"

"Bonjour, Monsieur Rochebrune! have you seen our friend DuprÉval lately?"

"Not for a long while! I have not done right; but I have been told that since DuprÉval was married he has entirely renounced pleasure and gives all his attention to business; so that I have been afraid of disturbing him."

"It is true, he has become a regular bear; he thinks of nothing but making money. For my part, I make it, but I spend it too!"

"And I spend it, and don't make any. Such is life: everyone follows his tastes, or the current that carries him along; if we all did the same thing, it would be too monotonous."

"I have just met a man who was at our dinner party at Deffieux's, and who can't be very well content with his lot at present; I don't know whether that will make him less rigid in the matter of morals."

"Whom do you mean?"

"Monsieur FaisandÉ, the clerk in the Treasury Department, who was shocked when he heard anything a little off color."

"What has happened to him?"

"He has lost his place, that's all."

"Dismissed?"

"Yes, and he certainly hasn't embezzled. I heard all about it from a man who is a clerk in the same bureau. Would you believe, Monsieur Rochebrune, that that individual, who was so virtuous, so pure in his language, sometimes passed a fortnight without showing his face at his desk? If it had been on account of sickness, no one would have said a word; but, no, the man wasn't even at home; he didn't show himself there any more than he did at the bureau; not even at night; and his wife and child expecting him all the time! He passed a fortnight away from home!"

"What a cur!"

"You are right: cur is the word. They began, at the bureau, by warning him that, if he were not more regular, his conduct would be reported. He paid no attention. They cut down his salary; and he kept on in the same way. At last, they gave him his walking ticket. And now he's thrown on his wife's hands, and she has to work day and night to support her family! Poor woman! may heaven soon rid her of the fellow!"

"Cur and hypocrite often go together. I have never had the slightest confidence in people who prate about their own virtue, honesty, or merit."

While I was speaking, Monsieur Rouffignard happened to glance at my umbrella, which he at once began to scrutinize closely.

"You are surprised to see me with an umbrella in my hand, in such beautiful weather as this, aren't you?"

"Oh! I am not surprised at that, but—— Will you allow me to touch it?"

"Certainly."

I handed the umbrella to my stout friend, who examined the handle, opened and closed it, and exclaimed:

"Parbleu! I am sure now that I'm not mistaken."

"Do you happen to recognize my umbrella?"

"Your umbrella? You say it's yours?"

"Why, to be sure! I bought it not two hours ago, and that is why I am carrying it now."

"In that case, I should be very glad to know where you bought it."

"You know Dumouton—the literary man?"

"Dumouton! Indeed I know him; he borrows five francs of me every time he sees me. But go on!"

"Well! I met him this morning. He had two umbrellas under his arm, and he urged me so hard to buy one of them that I finally bought this one."

"Ah! the villain! Upon my word, this is too cool! He actually sold you my umbrella, which he borrowed the day before yesterday and was to return that evening, and which I am still waiting for! Oh! this is the one—a trefoil with silver trimmings. It's my umbrella! Well! Monsieur Rochebrune, what do you say to that performance?"

Poor Dumouton! I was sorry that I had been the means of showing him up; but how could I suspect that he had sold me Rouffignard's umbrella? It was very wrong; but, perhaps, he needed the money to pay his baker. I felt that I must try to arrange the matter.

"You agree with me!" cried the stout man; "you call this a shameful trick, don't you?"

"No, Monsieur Rouffignard. I think that there is some misunderstanding simply, some mistake; that Dumouton is not guilty——"

"Not guilty! and he sold you my umbrella?"

"Allow me. When I met Dumouton this morning, he had two umbrellas under his arm. He offered to sell me one. 'And what about the other?' I asked him.—'The other isn't mine,' he said; 'it was lent to me, and I am going at once to return it.'—He certainly was speaking of yours, then. I made a bargain with him for his umbrella. But we talked some little time, and, when he left me, he must have made a mistake and given me the wrong one; that's the whole of it."

"Do you think so?"

"I am so sure of it that I will give you your umbrella, and go to Dumouton's to get the other."

"Infinitely obliged, Monsieur Rochebrune. But, as Dumouton proposed to bring mine back, I may find the other one at my house; in that case, I will send it to you at once."

"Do so, pray; au revoir, Monsieur Rouffignard!"

"Your servant, Monsieur Rochebrune!"

The stout man went off with his umbrella; I was quite sure that he would find none to send to me. Unfortunate Dumouton! See whither petits verres lead, and idling in cafÉs, and risky collaborations!

My thoughts recurred to the ticket for the box at the Gymnase. Suppose that should be claimed at the door, like the umbrella! Suppose my ladies should be denied admission, humiliated! That would prove to have been a precious gift of mine! And the name that was written on it! Suppose that that should mislead Mademoiselle Rosette! Faith! that would be amusing. In case of an emergency, as I had given the damsel my address, and had forgotten to tell her my name, I determined to instruct my concierge as to what he must say if anyone should call and ask for the person whose name was on the ticket.

I waited impatiently for the hour at which the play would begin. I was convinced that they would be admitted on the ticket I had sent. Dumouton had undoubtedly asked for the box under some other name than his own, with the intention of selling it; that was very pleasant for the person whose name was written out in full on the ticket!

I could not afford to appear at the very beginning of the play; I should look like an opÉra-comique lover. I waited until eight o'clock, before I went to the Gymnase. I had been careful to observe the number of the box, which was the best in the second tier. The play had begun; I walked along the corridor, found the number in question, and satisfied myself by a glance through the glass door that the box was full. That was satisfactory; she had come. My next move was to take up a position on the opposite side; at a distance, it would be easy for me to keep my eyes on the box without attracting attention.

I entered the opposite balcony, where nothing would intercept my view of the person on whose account I had come.

But to no purpose did I fix my opera glass on the box in question; to no purpose did I rub it with my handkerchief so that I could see more distinctly: among all the faces that filled the box I had given my pretty grisette, there was not one that resembled or even suggested hers. I looked again and again. It was impossible; I thought that my eyes deceived me. There were four women in the box, and I examined them one after another. It did not take long. In front, there was a rather attractive person of thirty or thereabouts; but she did not in the least resemble Mademoiselle Rosette: as for the other three, they were all between fifty and seventy, and vied with one another in ugliness.

What had they done with my pretty Rosette? where was she? I wanted her, I must have her! Deuce take it! It was not for that quartette of women that I had bought the box of Monsieur Dumouton, who had seized the opportunity to entangle me in the folds of an umbrella! Who were those people I was examining? Madame Ratapond? some of my inamorata's aunts? I had no idea, but I was horribly annoyed. So she had not come! although the ticket was meant for her; although she knew that I would go there solely in the hope of seeing her and speaking to her! So she did not choose to make my acquaintance, but simply to make sport of me!

I left the balcony and returned to the corridor; I asked the box opener if the ladies in such a number had said that they expected anyone.

"No, monsieur; they didn't say anything about it. Anyway, the box is full; there's four of 'em."

"I know that. By the way, please show me their ticket."

The box opener showed me the coupon: it was the one I had sent. I was completely done! I returned, in an execrable humor, to the balcony, but this time nearer the box. From time to time, I glanced at that assemblage of the fair sex, every member of which, with one exception, was exceedingly ugly. But it seemed to me that they had noticed me. Perhaps they fancied that they had made a conquest of me. In any event, there was but one of them who could reasonably imagine that. Soon I began to think that they whispered and laughed together as they looked at me. Perhaps it was my imagination. But, no matter! I had had enough. She for whom I had come was not there; why should I remain?

I left the theatre. I was weak enough to pace back and forth on the boulevard, in front of the door, hoping that she might come. But the clock struck ten. I decided to go away. I went into a cafÉ and read the papers, and about half-past eleven I went home, depressed and shame-faced. Really, that girl was most seductive, and I had fancied that there would be no obstacle to our liaison.

My concierge stopped me.

"A young woman has been here asking for you, monsieur. That is to say, she didn't ask for you, but for that queer name monsieur told me."

My heart expanded; I became as cheerful as I was melancholy a moment before.

"Ah! so the young woman came, did she? A tall, dark girl, with a wide-awake look?"

"Yes, monsieur; that describes her."

"What time did she come?"

"About half-past eight."

"And she asked if Monsieur—the author whose name I gave you—lived here?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"And you answered?"

"I answered yes, as you told me to. I told her that you lived on the second floor, but that you had gone out."

"And then?"

"Then she said she'd come about noon to-morrow, and told me to tell you."

"She will come to-morrow?"

"Yes, monsieur, about noon."

"Very good! very good!"

I was beside myself with joy. I rewarded my concierge, then ran lightly up my two flights. Pomponne opened the door. I went in singing, and said to him:

"To-morrow, Pomponne, about noon, a young grisette will come here."

"Ah! a grisette—a new one?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean one who has not called on monsieur before."

"Why, yes, of course, you idiot! She will ask for——"

"Pardi! she will ask for monsieur."

"Well, no; that is just what she won't do."

"Will she ask for me, then? But I don't expect anybody, monsieur!"

"Oh! how you annoy me with your reflections, Pomponne! She will ask for—— But, no, you would make some infernal blunder; I prefer not to have you here. I will send you on some errand, and let her in myself when she comes."

"What, monsieur! do you distrust me to that extent?"

"Hush! you bore me."

"But if you want her to ask for me, monsieur, I'm willing, I don't refuse."

"Leave me in peace, and go to bed!"

Pomponne went to bed, weeping because I would not allow him to be there on the morrow to admit my young grisette. I fell asleep thinking of Mademoiselle Rosette. Her visit indicated a very earnest wish to make my acquaintance; or was it not due to her having read that name on the ticket? Was it not because she believed me to be a famous author that she had come to my lodgings? All women love renown; grisettes are as susceptible to it as other women. And in that case, when she learned——

"Faith!" said I to myself; "we shall see to-morrow; let's go to sleep."

At noon, I was becomingly dressed; I had sent Pomponne away, with orders not to return before two o'clock, and I impatiently counted the minutes.

I did not count long. The bell rang; I opened the door instantly: it was my grisette, in the same costume as on the day of our first meeting, and with a no less affable expression. She entered without ceremony. I ushered her into my little salon, and invited her to sit on the divan, saying:

"How good of you to come!"

"I came last evening."

"I know it. But why weren't you at the theatre? I was so anxious to meet you there! In fact, it was for you that I sent the box, and not for those others."

"Yes, but I couldn't go; there was work that had to be done, and at such times there's no fun to be had. You saw my employer, Madame Ratapond, and a specimen of my aunts."

"Ah! so those were your aunts; the elderly ladies, I presume?"

"Yes. And my mistress, what did you think of her?"

"She is very good-looking. But it was you that I wanted to see! You are so pretty, and I love you so dearly!"

At this point, I tried to add action to speech; but Mademoiselle Rosette pushed me away and arose, saying:

"In the first place, I want you to let me alone. Stop! stop! you think you can go on like that, right away—— Oh, no! Later, I won't say! We'll see!"

Good! At all events, she gave me ground for hope. I liked her frankness exceedingly.

"In the second place, I must go; yes, I'm in a great hurry. I came here on my way to do an errand; but it wasn't far that I had to go, and my mistress will say: 'There's that Rosette idling again!'"

"Ah! so it seems that you do that sometimes?"

"Yes, sometimes; I don't deny it. I like to stroll along and look in the shop windows."

"Sit down a moment."

She did so, and said, after looking about the room:

"Monsieur—is it really true that it's you?"

"That it's I?—why—— What do you mean?"

"Why, you know, yesterday, when I saw your name on the ticket, I shouted for joy, and I said: 'What! that gentleman who spoke to me is the one who writes the plays I like so much and go to see so often!'—Oh! I tell you, I was pleased then, and that's why I came right here last night: I remembered your address, and I asked if it was really you that lived in this house; and the concierge said yes, and I told him I'd come again to-morrow, at noon. Well! does that make you angry? you don't say anything."

"No; it doesn't make me angry. But I was thinking."

"I say, monsieur, do you know I'm mad over your plays? If I should go mad over you too——"

"There's no danger of that."

"What's that? there's no danger? What makes you say: 'There's no danger'? Perhaps you don't know that I take fire very quickly, I do!"

That young woman was decidedly original. She said whatever came into her head, without beating about the bush. I liked that frankness, in which there was something like artlessness. Mademoiselle Rosette was neither stupid, nor pretentious, nor prudish. She was a perfect little phoenix, was that grisette. I began by kissing her; she defended herself feebly, or, rather, she allowed herself to be kissed without too much fuss; but when I attempted to go further, she defended herself very stoutly, crying:

"I said: 'Not to-day!'—So, no nonsense; it's a waste of time!"

"Well, when, then?"

"Oh! we'll see; we've got time enough. Do you like me?"

"What a question! Many other men must like you, for you know well enough that you're as pretty as a peach."

"Oh, yes! I know that; people tell me so every day."

"Lovers?"

"Lovers and flatterers and chance acquaintances—what do I know? I can't go out without being followed, and it's sickening!"

"Come, Mademoiselle Rosette, tell me frankly: have you had many—lovers?"

"Lovers! I should think not! No, I've never had but one."

"That's very modest! And you loved him dearly, I suppose?"

"Why, yes."

"Why did you separate?"

She looked down at the floor, heaved a profound sigh, and murmured:

"Alas! he died, my poor LÉon!"

"Oh! forgive me for reminding you of so sad a loss."

"Yes; he died—a little more than a year ago."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty. They've wanted to marry me off seventeen times already; but I won't have it; I haven't any taste for marriage. I am right, ain't I?"

"If you have no inclination for marriage, you will certainly do quite as well to remain free."

"Free, that's it! What fun it is to do just what one wants to do! In the first place, I should make a husband very unhappy! And in the second place, how can I marry, now? I don't choose to deceive anyone, and I certainly wouldn't hold myself out for something that I'm not any more."

"You are right, mademoiselle; you shouldn't have any secrets from the man you bind yourself to; but all young ladies aren't like you."

"They're wrong, then. I must go now; I shall get a scolding."

"Just another minute. Tell me; if you hadn't seen that name on the theatre ticket, wouldn't you have come to see me?"

"Oh, no!"

"Then it was on account of the name alone that you came, not on my account?"

"But it was on your account, as the name's yours."

"But suppose it were not mine? suppose it were a mere accident that that name was on the ticket?"

The girl gazed earnestly at me, then exclaimed impatiently:

"Come, go on! what do you mean? I don't like to have anyone hold my nose under water."

"I mean, mademoiselle, that, like yourself, I do not choose to deceive anyone, or to hold myself out for what I am not. The author of whose works you are so fond—I am not he. My name is Charles Rochebrune; and I haven't the least little bit of renown to serve as a halo to my name. If my concierge lied to you yesterday, it was because I thought that you would not come here for poor me; and, as I ardently desired to see you again, I ventured upon that little fraud, to obtain the pleasure of receiving you here. But I never intended to carry it any further.—That is what I wanted to tell you."

Mademoiselle Rosette was silent for a few moments; I heard her mutter in a disappointed tone: "It's a pity!" But the next minute she smiled and held out her hand, saying:

"I don't care—it was good of you to tell me the truth!"

"Then you are no longer angry with me?"

"What good would that do?"

"And you will love me a little?"

"We shall see. Ah! a piano! Who plays the piano? I love music!"

I sat down at the piano, and played quadrilles, waltzes, and polkas. When I reached the last-named dance, she began to polk about the salon with fascinating grace.

"Do you like the polka?"

"I adore it! Do you polk?"

"A little."

"Let's try it."

She took my arm, and in a moment we were polking all over the salon to a tune which I was obliged to sing while we danced. It was very fatiguing; but Mademoiselle Rosette did not weary; she was an intrepid dancer. We were making our fifteenth circuit, at least, when the door was suddenly thrown open and FrÉdÉrique appeared. She stood, speechless with amazement, in the doorway; she had not eyes enough to look at us. I attempted to stop and go to her; but Mademoiselle Rosette dragged me on and compelled me to continue:

"Come on, come on!" she cried. "Do you think of stopping now? My word! Why, I can polk two hours without stopping!"